


need the sun to break

by rook_fern



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Sam Winchester, Angst, Dean Winchester Has Anger Issues, Emotional Sam Winchester, Episode: s13e18 Bring 'em Back Alive, Post-Episode: s13e18 Bring 'em Back Alive, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 12:45:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14355807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rook_fern/pseuds/rook_fern
Summary: All I gotta say is—this ain't Dean-friendly.





	need the sun to break

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of feelings regarding Sam and Dean's relationship, especially for season 13. "Bring 'Em Back Alive", however, just sent me over the edge. Something about the episode just did not sit well with me—mainly the Flinch.
> 
> For so long, it feels like the writers have just glossed over Sam as a character and only occasionally tossed in his feelings for 'flavor'. I can't stand it. This started out as a rant writing in a notepad so I could loosen the ball of hate in my chest. After having Gabriel stand up to Asmodeus, this just felt right.

Sam kept his head down until Dean turned away. His back was as rigid as a washboard and his shoulders were beginning to ache from being held tense for so long.

He finally released his breath when Dean's heavy footsteps trailed away. His fingernails bit into his palm, not digging in hard enough to break the skin but enough to dimple small crescents into his hand.

Sam sucked in a fresh breath and lifted his head. His brother was slowly retreating into the confines of the bunker. "Dean—" Sam called after him, a sliver of steel edging his tone.

"What, Sam?" Dean's voice was still dripping with venom, and he turned to face the younger Winchester.

"Look, I know you're upset—"

"And what, Sam? You gonna magically pull archangel grace outta your ass?" Dean started to turn away once more.

A slow burning took hold in Sam's chest, and he swallowed against the lump that was building in his throat. "No." He forced out, using a tone he rarely—if ever—took with his brother.

Dean paused, an eyebrow raised. "Sam—"

" _ No _ . You listen." Sam stepped towards Dean, squaring his shoulders. “ _ For once. _ ”

Sam’s ferocity took Dean by surprise, and the elder brother’s mouth snapped shut.

“I know you’re angry. Hell, you’ve got every right to be. Mom and Jack are still lost in Apocalypse World, and now Charlie—I get it.” Sam did his best to quash the quaver creeping into his voice. He swallowed and started again. “But you’re not the only one dealing with all of this shit. None of us wanted Gabriel to leave, and yeah, maybe giving him his grace back wasn’t the best plan, but what were we supposed to do, Dean? Leave him in his head, curled up against some wall in rags because he’s too terrified and weak to move?”

Memories of Hell and the Cage washed through Sam’s thoughts and he was unable to stop the tide. He stood still for a moment, breathing raggedly.

“Sammy—” Dean’s expression had softened.

“I’m not—I’m not done.” Sam shrugged off Dean’s proffered hand, trying to keep from falling into a familiar slouch. “I want Charlie back, too, Dean. I miss Mom and Jack more than anything, and if there was a way to crack open another rift, I’d sure as hell be marching in there to get them. But there  _ isn’t. _ ”

Vehemence leaked into Sam’s tone, and he heaved a shaky breath through his nose. “And Gabriel’s leaving—what did you think we were going to do about it? Restrain him against his will? Put him back in that hell he’s been living _ for years? _ ”

Sam stepped up to Dean, jabbing a finger at his brother’s chest. “So what right do you have to come back and throw a fit because things aren’t going our way? Yeah, shit sucks. Always does. But it sure as hell ain’t Cas’s fault.” The lump in Sam’s throat reformed with a vengeance, and he struggled to force his words around it.

“And it sure as hell ain’t mine.” He spat the words out, no longer caring that his voice shook as violently as his fingers did. He curled his hands into fists and brushed past Dean; his eyes stung and he did his best to blink away the tears. A suffocating silence filled the room.

Sam needed fresh air —desperately. He started for the bunker door, catching Cas’s gaze as he passed. The angel’s eyes were filled with sympathy, and he nodded at Sam as he passed.

“I’ll talk to him.” Cas promised in a low tone.

Sam barely stopped to acknowledge the angel. “Thanks.” He rasped before continuing on.

The air outside was crisp and cool, a stark difference to the stifling stagnance of the atmosphere inside the bunker. Sam gulped in several lungfuls before sinking down to sit on the gravelly ground.

He felt strangely empty. The heaviness that had for so long weighed on his chest had lifted, and he was finally able to breath properly. Slowly, his pulse returned to normal, and his breathing no longer shuddered in and out of his chest. He lifted his head and watched the stars wink in and out of sight.

Everything was going to be okay.

It always was.

**Author's Note:**

> If you can't tell, I really don't like Dean right now.


End file.
